Movement
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: The simple art of movement perplexes her. It shouldn't, because she knows only too well the comforts it can bring. But she allows herself to watch, and she allows herself to be puzzled, because something as bittersweet as this is not entirely normal.


**A/N: Yay, a fun Tiva oneshot. It might start bitter but it gets better. Enjoy? :)**

**I don't own NCIS.**

There are some things in life that she knows she cannot have.

She has long since accepted this as fact. Many things are out of reach, and will always be. Just as she reaches out and her fingers brush the possibilities, the thought - everything falls down around her. This is why she so often lets things slip by. Over the years, she's grown accustomed to it, even accepted it, but only occasionally does a fleeting desire leave an imprint on her mind.

This is why, when she sees him, she cannot stop staring.

He's dancing, feet moving perfectly and each movement graceful as if he's done the steps a million times before. It shocks her, to see a man whose hands are so stained with the blood and guilt that their work gives them, move the way he does. She shouldn't be surprised; she's much the same. Movement - _dance _- has always been a comfort for her. Nevertheless, she allows herself to be perplexed by this simple act.

Had it been another time, another place, she might have teased him. Or she may have joined him. But they are not in the NCIS gym, and they are not alone. He is dancing with a woman, a beautiful one at that, and they are surrounded by people who have had too much to drink and others who haven't had enough. When the pair spins perfectly, she classifies herself as one who needs more to drink. It will be a long night if she doesn't stop staring at him.

It's like he's put a spell on her, because she can't seem to enjoy the rest of the night. It's hard to keep herself focused on something without seeing him. Maybe it's because she's drunk. Maybe it's because she's unstable. Whatever the reason, she can't help but look at him again. It seems that, every time she looks, he is dancing with a new girl. She wonders, for a fleeting moment, how he keeps up his stamina.

But when she bursts out laughing, she realizes her mistake, because the bar keeper instantly announces that perhaps she's had a bit too much to drink and she should pay her bill and be on her way. She knows this is code for '_no more drinks for you, you're a crazy drunk,_' but she doesn't care, because at least she's found something humorous in the night. Rebelliously, she downs the last of her drink and that of the person next to her, before putting both glasses on the counter with a thousand-watt grin.

When she turns around, ready to leave for the night, her bar stool hits something hard, and she rebounds off of it. Confused and dazed, she only stares at the floor for a few heartbeats before she realizes: it's him. He's standing there, and he looks concerned. She brushes away the starts of shame as he stares. Had she really let herself go _that_ much?

"Ziva?" he asks, reaching his hand to grab her wrist. "I think you've had enough to drink…"

"There's no such thing as too much," she reminds him, her eyes now glued to his wrist. She doesn't want to look at his face. She doesn't want to see those glowing green eyes that are staring so curiously at her.

"Even I'm not that drunk," he tells her, pulling her to her feet easily. She's somehow enchanted by the motion. Perhaps it really was the alcohol. "Maybe we should get you home."

"No," she snaps immediately, and forces herself to look into his eyes. _No fear._ "You go back… to… your dancing, and I'll… I'll find someway home."

"Okay, you've been watching me dance?" he's perplexed for a minute, but then his face breaks into a grin. "Of course. I knew it. No one can resist me!"

He instantly realizes these are the wrong things to say, because she storms past him. He doesn't understand where the rage comes from, but he follows her anyway, out into the snow. It's freezing, he notes immediately, and they both shiver as snowflakes fall onto their skin. She stops at the nearest bench and sits down, head rested in her hands. "Go away."

"No. Zee, what's up with you?"

He had to be kidding. She wasn't going to start crying and complaining about how she'd been watching him dance with other girls. If he expected her to 'open up', now was _not_ the time. Not when she was more than a little tipsy, exhausted, freezing, and… well, jealous.

"Aw, come on," he pleads at her silence. "It's almost Chriiiistmas. Where's your holiday cheer?"

"Bur humdog," she growls. "Wait, no. Ba humdog? Bur humbug?"

"Ba _humbug,_" he tells her, almost falling over laughing. A small smile breaks on his face and he instantly takes advantage of it. "Ha! You smiled! I win! Now come on…"

"Come on _what?_" she growls, but she stands anyway, glaring at him. Snowflakes are coming down faster now, and she's starting to get colder, but she refuses to admit it. He stares at her for a few minutes before grabbing her hands and pulling her towards him. At first, she's stunned. And then she realizes.

He begins to move again, but something is different now. She moves with him. And as they spin in the snowy street, she understands. It feels right… because she's the one dancing with him. He doesn't seem to be interested in conversation or anything, only the movement. She forces herself to pay attention as well, though her gaze never stays on his face for long.

When they stop, she's unsure exactly what time it was or why they had stopped in the first place. He's smiling that smile that she's come to love and hate; the irresistible, charming smile that was his only weaponry. Her heart is going about a million miles as hour as he pulls her into his arms and hugs her for a long minute. When he lets go, she misses his warmth, but says nothing.

And then he is gone.

It is like he was never there in the first place, because she is all alone in the street, staring around her. People are passing, and those who truly notice her are confused by her presence, but she doesn't bother to move. She only stares in the direction that he left in, a half-smile on her face.

There are somethings she knows she can not have. But maybe - just maybe - she can change that. Maybe some day, she'll get exactly what she now knows is impossible.

Maybe some day, everything will be perfect.

But until then, she's willing to wait, because it is the bittersweet moments that give her reason to live.


End file.
